


Of Princes, Duties, and Duchies

by lady_brontide



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2020-08-10 09:47:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20133424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_brontide/pseuds/lady_brontide
Summary: Princes and duchesses do not always get to choose who they marry, nor whom they come to love.But Bella and Thorin get to do both.





	1. Chapter 1: One Wizard and a Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this story, but not of Bella's, who has been prepared to take over the Bag End dukedom since the first time she sat on her father's lap and paid the bills with him, or since the first time she walked the boundary-wall with him.

Bella Baggins of Bag End was an honorable and respected member of the Shire nation. Overseeing over two thousand acres of land along the northern border, the Bag End estate spanned farmland, grazing pastures, dairy farm space, cozy cottage tucked away in glens, two breweries, two distilleries, a refurbished stone church, and one cemetery. Bella sat there now, the reverend sat beside her, shaking the hands of well-wishers and effectively shielding Bella. 

Duke Bungo Baggins of Bag End had passed away in the night. He had been sick with pneumonia for over a week, and at ninety-seven it had not come unexpectedly. Still, Bella’s eyes stung from the morning’s cry. Her eyelashes were heavy with dried tears, and the light rain was not helping her runny nose. 

“Bella, do you want to go inside? It’s getting cold out here,” Father Odo asked. To be fully honest his cassock was soaked along the hem, and the wind-chill was biting his ankles. 

“You can go inside if you like Odo, I want to stay here until everyone who is inside has left,” Bella replied. “I’m grateful they came to say goodbye to Father, but three have solicited information about his will already. Pesky scavengers.”

“Bella.”

“Odo.”

He sighed. “Right, fine. I’ll tell them you’d like some time alone.” He patted his cousin on her shoulder and dropped a kiss atop her damp head. “And I’m bringing you a towel, you’re damp.” 

Bella barely registered when Odo did return with a towel, but she patted her head dry and wrapped it around her neck to fight the wind. The ceremony had been somber. Over two hundred folks had turned out for the duke. His coffin was covered in flowers and coins. It had been closed casket; too wet out. Bella had hoped the funeral had been open casket so everyone could wish goodbye to her father. She supposed this would do. 

In Bella’s hand she clutched a folded piece of paper. Odo and another distant relative were chatting somewhere behind her in hushed tones, presumably making sure she didn’t wander off in her grief. She didn’t blame them for thinking that. Under her wool trench coat she was sweating from nerves. Her eyes were heavy. The paper in her hand was a letter from the High Council of Arda sending it’s regrets of the Duke’s death, and informing Bella that her father’s seat on the High Council was vacant, and that her ownership of the estate was suspended.

_ “What does vacant mean? Can’t I just fill it since I’m his remaining, named heir?” she held up the will and testament, page three of eighty, section “B”.  _

_ The stuffy council delivery man shook his head and through muffled ears Bella supposedly heard that the Shire was in danger of new ownership because no council member believed she was ready to take on the responsibility of both the Shire and a High Council seat after her father’s death, therefore, the seat would remain vacant until an experienced candidate put themselves forward for review.  _

_ “Who would qualify as an experienced candidate? Would an experienced candidate taking the seat guarantee the Shire remained under Baggins control and protection?”  _

_ He remained silent.  _

Rain water dripped on Bella, and she decided it was finally time to go inside. 

Three months previously the family doctor had informed her, the Duke was in poor health, and despite how strong he was feeling on his cane it would not stop the infection from destroying his lungs. Pneumonia had taken hold, and the leech of a sickness would not let go. It was an insidious thing, eating away at him, thrashing the Duke’s limbs in his sleep, forcing phlegm and blood up his throat. 

Yes the Duke had died of pneumonia. And tuberculosis. Bella stood. She patted the lid of the coffin, and wrapping her coat around her wandered back into the church. 

* * *

“Thank you Mr. Spindley, I will pursue any references I wish to inquire about later,” Bella snapped. “Good day.” Odo slammed the door shut behind the good Mr. Spindley. 

“Wasn’t he kindly.”

“Yes, if you consider wanting to manage an estate so you can forgive your own land debts, then I suppose that is nice,” Bella said plopping into her leather wing-back great-chair, “for him.”

It had been a week after the funeral, and Bella had cried her eyes out everyday so far. Unfortunately she was trying to hire an estate manager. Good Mr. Gamgee was a wonderful gardner and had agreed to stay on, but he wasn’t any good with numbers, and Bella would need a full-time replacement for her father’s cunning financial choices. She wondered if her pink wool socks were bringing her bad luck. She wiggled a toe. Nothing broke, so that must be a hallucination.

“I’ll go get some tea. Maybe that will…” Odo flopped his hand around. “I don’t know what it will do, but I’ll get some.” Bella vaguely shooed him away. 

What could she do? How callus did she look? Her father’s duchy was still grieving, and she was sitting in his Oak paneled study, at his grandfather’s desk, writing with his ball-point pens and among his copies of Tolstoy, Tolkein, and Arendt. 

“Bella Baggins, is staring into the distance going to help you sort out this state of affairs?”

Bella shot up. “Gandalf!” She tripped and knocked over a stack of books in her haste, but fell into Gandalf’s warm hug and laughing face. “Where did you come from?”

“Oh here and there, across and beyond the water,” his eyes danced. “Oh what are these tears, my dear? I hope you aren’t crying because of me.”

“No no, Gandalf, I--” Bella’s voice cracked, and she knew it was time to tell Gandalf. “I need to tell you something. About Father.”

Gandalf pushed the door closed behind him and wrapped an arm around Bella’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I might already know. Tell me everything you have heard.”

* * *

“Your father’s council seat, vacated as it is, is the only thing standing between you and maintaining control over this territory. You either need someone who would unequivocally represent you and your interests to Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel,” Gandalf finished with a sip of his tea. “Do you know such a person?”

“No.” Bella responded without blinking. There was no one. No one knew the land and people like she did. She grew up here for goodness sake! Mr. Gamgee had been the gardner for as long as she could remember. She’d walked the border walls with her father and neighboring Duke to examine the lands boundaries, she had helped survey the land for the new lighthouse, she had finished her University studies in managerial accounting with a special interest in international trade, she was  _ prepared  _ to take over, she had  _ always  _ wanted to. 

And right now, she was feeling very tired. 

Gandalf set his tea down, sat back, and folded his hands across his lap. “What if I told you there was someone who could represent your interests at the High Council?”

“I wouldn’t believe you, frankly. But tell me anyway?”

“You are familiar with Erebor, correct?” Gandalf’s voice had shifted. The air felt electric. A secret was about to be divulged. 

“I know of it. It’s a growing nation, it still functions as a kingdom.

“Correct. A kingdom who would like to join the High Council.”  _ Oh.  _ Bella perked up at that. Then deflated. 

“Even if I were to convince some high ranking official to represent me and look out for my duchy’s interest, how would they balance the needs of Erebor between the needs of my duchy?” Bella was curious what the man had up his sleeves. 

The fire cackled behind Bella, throwing heat like stones on her head. Gandalf grinned but looked away. “What do you have in mind?” 

“The crown prince of Erebor is currently seeking to form a strong alliance with Arda, but because he does not have any formal relationships here he does not have legal grounds to sue for representation.” Gandalf leaned forward. The light of the fire reflected in his eyes, and he looked very intently at Bella. “But a marriage to a noblewoman would provide him such legality.”

Bella stared into the old man’s eyes and aged face. Her breath caught. She got up and made sure the study doors were locked and bolted, the heat of the fire brandishing her back. 

“Tell me the rest,” she returned to her chair, the heat still biting her neck. “But tell no one else.”


	2. Chapter Two: Gutpunch

Thorin had awoke with a foul mood. Groggy, exhausted, and near steaming angry he marched from his bed to his personal training center and finally at Dwalin, the master of arms in naught but joggers and a black tee-shirt. The fresh morning light made the pine trees outside the massive windows of the modern style room glow. 

“Good morning, your highness. Sleep well?” Dwalin asked. The man looked ready to train, and like he had slept only a little better than Thorin. 

“Obviously not, so just punch me already,” Thorin ditched his shirt and wrapped his hands for practice.

“As you wish, m’lord. But it’s your broken rib.” Dwalin grinned through his handlebar mustache. 

Thorin’s morning sparring sessions were no longer for the street fights he had snuck into in his teenage years. Nor were they for the upcoming highland games which he was no longer allowed to participate in since being declared legally, and formally the crown prince and heir apparent. They were for his peace of mind, which was always quietly humming with the background voices of politicians and his father. 

_ Thorin overturned the table. It sent a crystal decanter set against the far brick wall, shattering it wholly, and loudly. Next he ripped off his sash, the gaudy, ugly thing. He was a prince and a leader he didn’t need a damned sash declaring it.  _

_ “Thorin Durinson, by my beard, boy, this is not the way to behave at a meeting.” Balin looked shaken, he wiped his forehead with a little red handkerchief. “You think this will make the Arda council think we’re fit to join?” _

_ “Does it matter, Balin? Lord Elrond made it very clear just then Erebor would never be made part of Arda’s alliance. We will be a broke country, poor, with little trade, and with a royal family that can’t even fend for it’s honor in the face of recovery!” Thorin bellowed. He wasn’t heavyset, but he was heavy and each pacing foot step near the shattered decanter set proved it.  _

_ “That isn’t what he said though! What did you expect them to do? Write a new law that makes what you are asking possible?” Balin opened a cupboard, shut it, and opened another one. His hands shook as he poured a finger of rye into a tumbler. Gulping it down, he sighed and leaned back against the cupboards. “We’ll just have to find another way lad. If you want to join their alliance, you’ll have to play the rules.” _

_ “Erebor shouldn’t have to bend to rules! We are a sovereign nation.”  _

_ Balin sighed and slumped into an armchair. Thorin kept pacing until the door adjoining the conference room opened again. Dwalin, in his lovely three-piece blue suit stepped in. He saw the rye, poured three fingers, gulped it, and sat down adjacent his brother. His left leg bounced up and down.  _

_ “You absolute ass,” Dwalin muttered. “I loved those glasses.” _

Dwalin landed a punch to the kidney, and Thorin stumbled, one hand out. “Yield, yield.”

Dwalin dropped his fighting stance. “What’s this? Finally had enough gut punches for two days?”

Thorin cradled his side, and made his way to the ground. He sighed and blinked a drop of sweat out of his eye. “I’m sorry I broke your favorite set.”

Dwalin sat down too. “Apologize to your father. He liked it more than I did. You’ve done a good job of keeping that temper under control, but that was too far.”

Thorin nodded. “I know.” He felt ashamed. What would his father think if he had seen? His nephews, his people? What kind of leader breaks things in their anger?

The two sat in silence for a while. Dawn crept up the skyline, turning the world pink and yellow as a tulip field. In late May, the world was still loving the sunshine, even though the air was still cold. Dwalin spoke first. “I know you probably don’t want to take a meeting today, but your father’s friend, Lord Gandalf, is here. He arrived late last night and asked to see you first thing after breakfast.”

Thorin nodded. “Is he sleeping late?” His side still hurt but he didn’t need to hold it anymore. 

Dwalin shook his head. He got up to grab water bottles and shirts. “No, he had breakfast with his Majesty this morning. Old people and their early wake up times. You’d best go clean up though, it’s nearly six. How’s your side?”

“Purple, but not broken. Thank you, Dwalin.”

“Thorin,” Dwalin called as Thorin wandered out absently. “You’ll do better today, lad.”

* * *

Freshly showered, the crown prince was a sight to behold in his office attire. Thorin may have felt out of place in an office, but it did feel nice to greet people cleanly instead of dripping in sweat. Gandalf was waiting patiently outside his office door, his wool suit looking very smart.

“Ahh, there he is! You’ve gotten bigger!” Gandalf clapped Thorin on the shoulders before embracing him. “How are you? I heard you had a rough time up against Lord Elrond yesterday.”

Thorin and Gandalf walked into Thorin’s office overlooking the Southern skyline. “How do you manage to hear about things before they even leave the palace walls, Gandalf?” A valet bowed curtly and vacated the office space for the two. 

“Lord Elrond and keep in close contact often. Don’t worry, he didn’t divulge all your countries secrets,” Gandalf said slyly. He sat across Thorin’s desk with little crows feet setting hold around his eyes. “Actually I came because I might have a solution to your problems.”

“Which problems, exactly Gandalf? The collapsing infrastructure? The disorganized operations of the Treasury? Perhaps my father’s parliament being stubborn ox?” Thorin leaned back. 

“Thorin,” Gandalf’s voice dropped an octave. “I cherish the rulership of Thrain and his energy here. But to be frank, lad, we both know his time is near.”

Thorin felt the emotional energy drain from him. If it wasn’t his ongoing mental overtime, it was his father’s health. “I know, Gandalf.” 

“Your time to create an alliance built on his leadership is waning.”

“Yes, I know Gandalf.”

“And your stubborn attitude when it comes to compromising is putting the country’s future in danger.”

“Are you going to keep telling me things I already know, quite keenly?” His fist curled up. When Gandalf’s eyes dropped to it, it took too much time for him to unclench it and take a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Gandalf sighed. He sat still as a considering bird for a moment. Thorin was worried he had set the man off. Gandalf in his anger was frightening. But the older man looked up again, eyes warm as a stream. “I have a proposition for you.”

Thorin nodded. 

“I seemed to have found a legal loophole that may allow you to sue for legal representation at the Council of Arda.” 

Too tired for games and politics, Thorin nodded again. 

“In Arda, each duchy is given a seat on the council. It’s simple tradition. According to some very old laws that were never amended, it is possible to claim a vacated seat of a duchy, provided you are willing to represent the interests of that duchy alongside your own.”

“But Elrond made it clear I don’t have a case for claiming even an empty chair.”

“Right now you don’t, but you would be able to make a case by procuring dual citizenship in Arda.”

Thorin was confused, and his head hurt. And his side ached. “Only spouses…”  _ Oh _ . “You want me to get married?” 

“Yes.”

Thorin couldn’t even blink. “Isn’t that a bit cliche?” 

“Hogwash.” Gandalf slid a stack of papers tied together in brown string. “In your hands is the Baggins Dukedom. Lord Bungo Baggins has recently passed away, and his daughter, Bella, has been denied his council seat. She is determined to retain her family’s legacy. Bag End, the manor estate, is ancient. It’s her home, her life. She’s been running it for nearly three years.”

Thorin sifted through some of the copies of financial documents. Photos of the estate, residency numbers, a lovely picture of the manor gardens, another of the entire staff and the lake Lord Bungo on his cane outside the manor house. None of Bella. 

“I don’t know Gandalf. Even if I marry her there is no guarantee I would be granted his seat.”

“Nevertheless, you will have a greater chance of claiming it married than unmarried. And, the position of the estate gives you a unique tactical advantage as well. Look.” Gandalf’s sticky fingers pulled a map out of the stack of papers, unfolded it, and laid before Thorin the land and sea. “Here is Erebor,” he circled it with his finger, “and here is Bag End. Right across this straight. It isn’t too far away from here, and it is close enough the people could visit one another. It could even eventually open as an open port city or trade route.”

Thorin leaned back, away from Gandalf. He was having an already emotionally exhausting day. “I don’t know...it would take months to establish a meeting and get my father to approve.”

Gandalf sighed and tipped his head back. “My boy, one day you will learn that ‘early breakfast’ is code for quiet, diplomatic meeting. Your father has agreed to bless this union. He did so over scones. I already spoke to Lady Baggins, and she has agreed to help you if you can help her, which you will be by petitioning a council seat and forever securing Bag End as a dual province owned by bother the Shire, and Erebor.” Gandalf’s voice softened. “The lady of the manor is a highly respected. You would be  _ incredibly  _ foolish to turn down her counsel,” he concluded. 

Thorin finally let in the urge and covered his face entirely. His elbows dug into the oak desk; hopefully, the advisor would just disappear, and it would be the only pain in his life. When he finally peeked through his fingers, Gandalf was still there. 

“Shouldn’t I at least meet her first?” he finally asked. 

“Normally, I would say yes you should and arrange a lovely tea. Unfortunately the lady is settling issues of her father’s estate and traveling abroad for a spell,” he stated, whilst picking through his jacket pocket for a small notebook. “However, she sends her regards and a list of dates she believes are best suited to a wedding.” He slid the book across the desk with his fingertips to Thorin’s awaiting eyes. 

This was all going so fast. But what was he to do? With no foothold in the Shire that meant to grounds for demanding legal representation in international treaties. He needed a foothold. His father needed a foothold so he, Thorin, could build on that foothold. And Lady Belladonna Baggins, Duchess of Bag End, was suitable. He hoped. 

“The first date in May is acceptable. I don’t suppose she has any requests regarding the wedding?” he finally answered. Even to him it sounded cynical. 

Gandalf stood, slapping his thighs and extending a warm hand to Thorin. “Congratulations, my lad. Bella will make a fine addition to the family. And in regards to wedding preparations, most of what your planners choose will be acceptable. Bella has no specific requests. Only that her dress be long-sleeved. She isn’t too fond of the cold,” he emphasized by sliding his greatcoat over his wide shoulders. 

“Oh, and Thorin,” the big man said on his way out. Thorin had hoped he would just keep walking, or perhaps the door handle would break once he was out, and free him from his meddling. 

“Yes, master Gandalf?”

“She isn’t vain at all, so please be kindly towards her. She has lost near everything dear to her.”

Thorin tried to give a tight-lipped smile, but could only manage a grimace. “I will do my best.”

He smiled in return. “Good lad,” and disappeared out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing some culture blending here so keep the land spaces recognizable in our own context, but also in JRR Tolkein's "The Hobbir" context. I imagined Erebor to be similar to Scandinavia and Norway, but want to include elements of Scottish highland games and rough-n-tough Viking-esque elements. The Shire, situated in Arda, is physically landscaped like Northern England, think Northumberland. I will do my best to blend an also play to fiction/reality, so please be patient :)


	3. A Royal Invitation

The letter arrived on Tuesday at eight fifteen in the morning. The postman was hurrying along his usual muddy route sorting through the letters for Hill Lane, which housed three cottages with proper little aluminum mail boxes on their gates, and one manor house. The manor staff mail went to the manor house as well, a very proper and kind gesture by the deceased Duke Bungo who believed that his entire household should share in the blessing of his home address. 

He came across a heavy letter, a larger letter, than the regular solicitor stock. Even through his fingerless wool gloves the postman knew it wasn’t ordinary. It was addressed to Lady Belladonna Baggins, nothing unusual, and the return address read nothing. However, the wax stamp on the front flap gave away the sender. 

The letter was supposed to arrive at eight o’clock sharp, but it was the combination of two such letters that made the postman pause at the driveway entrance to the manor house and inspect the letters. They looked important. They felt important. He figured he should deliver them straight to the door. He pushed open the older side-gate, not the one for cars, with his hip to keep holding onto the letters. Scraping his boots along the bottom step, he clomped up and tapped on the oak door. He expected Mr.Gamgee to answer the door. Instead, the lady herself opened the door in her housecoat and socks. 

“Good morning, miss Bella, I’m sorry to bother you, I don’t normally deliver the mail to the door,” he said in the thick Northumberland accent. Bella tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and seemed unperturbed. “But I found two official lookin’ letters in my satchel, both addressed to you, and thought...perhaps you would like them in person.” 

The postman held out the two letters, to Bella. She took a deep breath before taking them, and the postman saw her clench her toes within her fuzzy red socks. “Thank you for bringing these right up. Your instincts were correct.” Her hands shook a little. She suddenly met his eyes. “Do you know when...you get that awful dread right before reading something that is just going to ruin your life?” 

Taken aback a little, the postman thought for a moment. “I suppose every time I open a letter from my daughter. She only writes in crayon for now, but sometimes she writes me things that make me wonder if spending the summer with her grammy is such a good idea. She found a dead sparrow last week,” he paused, wondering why she let him go on. “And I realized I wasn’t mad about how it affected me. I was sorry I couldn’t be there to help her understand. That’s all.”

Lady Bella was listening intently, her eyes were focused, and her socks had unclenched. He hoped he had helped her at all. 

“That helps. Thank you.” She smiled. “Um, is there any other mail?” 

“Oh yea, here it is,” he dug in and grasped a bunch of letters tied together for the manor. Bills, notices, personal mail for the housekeeper, etc. “What’s that seal on the other two letters, if you don’t mind me asking, miss?” 

“Oh,” Bella replied. She looked down at the seal pressed hard into ruddy wax. “It’s the seal of the royal family of Erebor. It’s just a salutations letter, nothing fancier.” she tucked the other side of her hair back and pulled her coat tighter around her neck. “I’m getting a bit cold Mr. Postman. If you don’t mind I’ll send you on your way? Oh and Mr. Gamgee is out repairing a few fence posts. He’ll be late for mid-morning snacks.”

The postman tipped his hat. “Of course miss. And thank you, very much.” 

The big door clicked shut as he cleared the stairs. Trudging down the driveway and out the side gate, the postman wondered what the lady could be doing with royal letters from a far off kingdom.

And then he wondered how she knew about his daily mid-morning snack. 

* * *

Bella set the letters down on her desk upstairs. Beside the fireplace in her bedroom, she believed nothing could ever go wrong. Her world was perfect right there, whole and cozy. 

Leaning on her elbows she broke the seal of the larger envelope. It was fine, heavy card-stock. It was covered in swirling letters that boiled down to a marriage proposal in the form of a legal contract. She had seen these before; contracts like this were ancient and a simple formality particularly among royal families, or powerful ones. She set it aside. Bella didn’t like the way the line were she was meant to sign her name was so daunting. And furthermore she didn’t like that the blank next to it where the crown prince was meant to sign was blank. 

The second envelope was a letter. The paper was delicate and looked to be from a personal notebook. In careful script she read:

_Miss Baggins, _

_Please forgive my father’s forthcoming nature. He sent the contract before I could send my letter introducing myself. I am unable to travel to the Shire due to previous foreign engagements and with such short notice, it would be impossible not to cause insult. Please forgive me once more. Nevertheless I am unendingly grateful for your interest in assisting my home’s appeal for legal representation in this lands affairs, and for the sacrifice you are making. Though a binding contract is not the romantic beginning I hoped to have for my marriage, I believe we can make do together._

_I hope to become better acquainted with you in the upcoming months. If you would like to write back, please respond to the enclosed return address. _

_I look forward to your letter. _

_Cordially, _

_ Thorin _

Bella set the letter down. It was written and signed in ink and he had clearly used a favorite pen, as the ‘y’ in cordially was fading. How lost she felt. This wasn’t marriage. This wasn’t the wedding she wanted. This was going to safe Bag End. How idiotic. 

Bella felt tears grow in her eyes, and without a second thought she grasped the closest pen in hand and signed her name, folded the letter, and stuffed it back into its envelope. 

Thorin’s letter she folded back into thirds and set on her night table. Then she dressed for the day and didn’t think of it again. 


	4. Chapter 4: Mr. Smaug Arrives

“Odo, do you have Mr. Smaug’s CV? I’d like to review it before he gets here.” Bella’s socked foot slipped forward on the hardwood as she entered the study, sending a slosh of tea dangerously close to her thumb. “Odo?”

He craned his head over the back of the couch he was lying on. “I left it in the printer. Sorry.” 

“Where do you want this?” Bella asked holding out his tea. 

Odo patted his chest but didn’t look up from the cover letter he was reviewing. Bella blew on his cup a little before gently setting it on his stomach where his hand wrapped around the cup and took over. The two were well into their fourth day of interviewing estate stewards and were frankly tired of it. Cover letters stapled to CVs with post-it notes on them were on the coffee table, Lord Bungo’s desk, and the floor where Bella had organized them into three piles: ‘maybe’, ‘thanks but no thanks’, and ‘burn me’. 

Odo shoved the heels of hands into his eyes. “Bells, my eyes are burning. How many more candidates are there?” 

Bella sipped her tea and looked onto one of the leather chairs which was serving as her desk. “Um...I think we have to read five more, but I don’t think we’re only calling two more in for an interview. Two of them used Calibri, so I’m just tossing those straight into pile number three.” 

“Yayyy,” Odo grumbled. Despite the grumblings and attitude she knew Odo was glad to help her. Bag End was home to them both, and Odo wanted to ensure it had a good caretaker while his cousin traveled abroad. “I know you want an estate steward to help run things, but why can’t Mr. Gamgee do it? You won’t be gone that long will you?”

Bella had tucked her knees under her to read Mr. Smaug’s CV. She untucked one to reach for her tea. “I offered him the job and he turned it down. He said he’s happier working outside, and that’s fine by me. We need a desk man for this.” 

“That isn’t what I mean,” Odo finally sat up but slouched back in the cushy beige couch. “Why are you treating this like a lifetime appointment?” 

“Because I want it to be?” she replied. Odo glared. “Fine. Because basically the person taking over will have to be everything my father was for an entire generation of people. That’s why.”

Two knocks came from the door frame. Mrs. Brown leaned inside the doorway looking for Bella amidst Odo’s limbs and a thousand papers.“Excuse me, miss. Mr. Smaug is here. He’s waiting in the foyer. Shall I send him in?” 

“Shit,” Bella breathed while untangling herself from her chair. “Have him wait a moment while we try to...make some portion of this room presentable. Odo can _ please _put your collar back on so you look like a vicar and not a vagrant?” Mrs. Brown chortled before closing the door.

From the other side of the door Mrs. Brown heard a muffled Odo say back, “you talk to God’s shepherd like that?” 

* * *

Mr. Smaug checked his gold pocket watch against the grandfather clock in the foyer. The clock was off by a minute. He assumed poor maintenance. 

“Mr. Smaug, Lady Baggins will see you in a moment. Would you like a cup of tea?” Mrs. Brown was a grey-streaked tawny haired woman with a soft Irish lilt. She was smartly dressed in corduroy trousers, a proper button down shirt, and wool cardigan, signalling the informality of the Baggins household. 

“Yes please, Mrs. Brown.”

The foyer was not decorated, but from it he could see up the staircase where the walls held oil paintings of the countryside. Hardwood flooring, clearly imported was beautifully inlain, and that pointed to the Baggins wealth. 

“Mr. Smaug, thank you for waiting.” Smaud looked up. Lady Bella Baggins stepped briskly toward him and extended her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

Smaug took her hand and gave a short, formal bow. “Lady Bella, thank you for seeing me. The gardens are exquisite.” His baritone surprised Bella.

“I’ll tell Mr. Gamgee you said so, he’s very proud of them this time of the season. June is his best month.” Bella turned around quickly because of tears in her eyes. Father loved the June bloom. She led the way into the study. Odo stood up from the couch, finally looking respectable, collar on and everything. 

“Good morning, Mr. Smaug. I’m Bella’s cousin, Odo Baggins,” he said cheerfully while extending a hand. Mr. Smaug returned it and with a very manly fist shake, the interview began. “Please have a seat here,” Odo said gesturing to the chair before Duke Bungo’s desk. If Bella had had her way she would have the interview on the couches, informally, but Odo insisted the position was too critical to let anyone think they were here for a happy visit. This was serious business. Bella sat in the Duke’s chair, and Odo in a second chair at her side. 

“Thank you,” Mr. Smaug said. He set down his briefcase, and Bella took a long look at him. His slicked-back black hair gave him a serpentine profile paired with his sharp cheekbones. His tie was done tighter than Odo’s vicar collar, and his nails were immaculate. “I have some questions regarding the time frame and purpose of this position. May I begin now, or after your preliminary questionnaire?” Poshness oozed from him. 

“After my initial questions, if you please,” Bella said. "First off, how much do you know about the Bag End estate?"

Mr. Smaug was very still but answered promptly, sitting straight up with his noise lifted. Bella was reminded of a school boy. "Bag End is an old, old estate house belonging to the esteemed Baggins family, who have governed the surrounding property, including and not limited too," he paused, and Bella could hear a colon being stamped into his sentence, "presiding as a magistrate in local disputes, setting the prices for wool and agricultural products, and is the official North Region producer of winter socks, having won or placed in competition for hand-made wears for nearly two decades." He finally smiled. 

"Very good, sir. Most people don't know the sock thing," Bella said. Odo saw her smudgy handwriting take a note from where he was sitting: _knows about the socks._

"So, how would you describe your interpersonal skills?"

"Adequate, and professional. As you know from my CV I worked in a bank for quite a while, and at a well-run accounting office where our interactions with clients were few and well-spaced out. I understand this position would require more hands on interactions with the surrounding locals, specifically the farmers."

Bella scribbled a few bullet points. "Well, yes and their families."

Mr. Smaug didn't move, but the air changed. "I beg your pardon?"

Bella shrugged. "My home is my home, but our housekeeper and groundskeeper, Mrs. Brown and Mr. Gamgee have families who come to the house often. It isn't uncommon for me to find Mrs. Brown's card group using the kitchen for their weekly games. My point is, you would also be interacting with families, not just the farmers. This place is very community based."

"I see, I did not realize how informal this position was," Mr. Smaug tested. 

"It isn't." Bella's eyes shot up from the paper. "My tenants are old spirits. They like to have tea and chat on their errands, and they enjoy quiet living. That means spending time with each other. That is a very formal occupation." She swapped papers. Odo felt his heart sob a little for Bella, who was truly doing her best. "Next question: are you a notary, or could you be made a notary within the next three months? We'll pay for whatever charges are accumulated for it."

Mr. Smaug looked surprised. "May I ask why?"

"As magistrate you might have to look over wills or settle disputes that end in a paper trail. I would like whoever is here to be able to provide legal proof that you did everything you can if the estate ever was taken to court by a curmudgeon sheep farmer, which I _doubt _would happen."

"Bella that did happen," Odo interjected. 

"And we won the case because we had a paper trail. Keep up, cousin." 

Smaug was beginning to see the relationship dynamics within the house emerge. "I could be certified in a month." 

"Excellent. I only have one more question for you. At your last occupation, the bank, you said you worked there for ten years as a senior account executive. Why did you leave?” 

Mr. Smaug smiled thinly. “My superiors there were not interested in the function of a bank, which is to invest and make more funds for it’s clients. I left because I did make money.”

“So would you say you make smart investments on behalf of your clients?” Bella asked. She had stopped writing and was now just listening. 

“I am saying that. I have a nose for high yield and low stakes investments, and can amass a dividend if a client wishes it.”

Lady Bella did not look impressed. “Mr. Smaug you understand there is no money to be made on this property. My tenants do not pay inflated rent costs like say, a southern estate tract.”

He nodded. “I understand, madam, but let me assure you, I am fully aware that this position means your tenants and yourself have someone looking for your interest if a well were to suddenly run dry,” Mr. Smaug finished. 

Bella and Odo looked at each other. “Mr. Smaug, the only well is the tenants, and the estates wool production. This is a very humble place. The money we make gets put back into the community almost immediately. I need you to understand I don't need or intend to make money if this interview is to continue,” Bella said firmly. “Perhaps you would give Odo and I moment alone. Would you please step out into the hall.”

Mr. Smaug stood stiffly and walked out into the hall, heels clicking. Bella waited for the door to click. 

“Hire him,” Odo mumbled. 

Bella blanched. “Don’t be stupid, Odo, he’s clearly just fortune hunting. I won’t leave Bag End to someone who is just trying to make a couple quid.” She sat back and rested her chin in her hand. “Besides, he isn’t suited to managing the estate, perhaps he should just go now.”

“Wait, wait,” Odo stopped her from standing with a hand. His eyes were urgent. “I know you want Bag End to be in good hands, but you have things on your plate that are beyond Bag End. I saw the letters from Erebor on your dresser.” 

Bella felt the blood drain from her face and leaned back, and away from her cousin. “You read my mail?” 

“No of course not, nitwit, I respect your privacy, but I know they exist and that you have been corresponding with them. You don’t have to tell me,” Odo held up his hand as Bella formed a protest. “You are Belladonna Baggins and I trust your judgement. However, I believe in this instance you need to get someone hired soon so you can deal with whatever secretive thing you are doing. Which you will tell me about. Eventually. Please, I’m dying to know, it took a lot of restraint.”

Bella slumped. She felt another bit of her grip on Bag End slip away. First the council seat, then her marriage, and now the income. It wasn’t fair. 

_ “Gandalf, how do I know Erebor will represent the interest of Bag End once they have a council seat? They’re a wide-reaching country, I’m sure they have more matters to attend to,” Bella asked between bites. _

_ Over their shared dinner of lamb Bella had been mostly quiet, but she finally worked up the nerve to ask Gandalf about how to guarantee Bag End was represented and taken care of. _

_ “Prince Thorin will keep his word, I assure you of that. He is an upright and honest man. Though a bit temperamental. But don’t worry, he is immensely kind once you get past the gruff exterior. A bit like this bone.” A crack followed, and Gandalf held up the split bone. “Marrow inside, nourishing and sustaining.” _

_ “So you think I should crack his skull open?” Bella asked. Gandalf looked unimpressed. _

_ “Thorin will collect a seat on the council and then eventually petition for a formal seat, relinquishing his original seat to you. It’s all been arranged.” _

_ Bella didn’t like that. She set her fork and knife down, crossing her arms against her stomach. “I feel very out of control,” she said quietly. Gandalf set his silverware down as well. “I don’t get a say in anything anymore really. You’ve fixed it all.” _

_ “My dear,” Gandalf reached across the corner and brushed the tear forming in Bella’s eyes away. “You have made a tremendously brave choice to try and save your home. I know worse people who lead nations. You should be very proud of yourself.” _

_ The tears kept coming, as did a racking sob. “I don’t feel brave. I feel lost, and like I’m losing everything. Where will I live? Will I even own this property after I’m married? Dad left me no instructions and it’s all falling apart.” Bella was crying, gasping for breaths and leaning into Gandalf. He patted her shoulder and squeezed her hand. _

_ “You won’t be alone, sweet girl. Odo and I shall help you move forward. I promise.” _

It wasn’t fair. But making other people around you better is fraught with complexities and contradictions. And that included letting things go. 

“I won’t hire him as an estate manager. But I will hire him as a treasurer,” Bella conceded. 

Odo smiled. “That’s perfect. He would make a great accountant, and perhaps I could help Mr. Gamgee with managing the flocks and taking care of other, um, things. He doesn’t have to have his fingers in all the pies, is what I’m getting at.”

“Horrible analogy.”

“I know, but it still worked!” Odo beamed. “Shall I call him in?” he was already walking to the door. 

Bella nodded. “Go ahead.”

It was Monday, and Mr. Smaug would begin a week from Wednesday as the Bag End treasurer. He would return to London for his things. By the time he returned they would have a bedroom and office space set up for him. 

Bella, Odo, and Mrs. Brown waved goodbye from the front steps as he drove out the gate in his sensible small black car. They waited until he was around the corner before going inside and shutting out the cold. 

* * *

In front of her bedroom fire, Bella sat down with her favorite stationary and pen to write Thorin back. Her socks were somewhere under her bed, but she was toasty in her pajamas and housecoat. She pulled her shoulder-length curls into a loose knot at the base of her neck and began to write. 

_ Dear Thorin, _

_ I hope you are in good health. Please do not apologize for the contract; it should have arrived far before this letter. I am anxious to get to know you in the coming days, even if it is only via letters. Perhaps this way will be kinder on our hearts. _

_ I have recently hired a treasurer to manage the estate’s funds until I find a suitable manager. This process could take some time, but for the moment it is taken care of. I understand you were hoping for a May wedding; even though it is only June, I hope you have had the wherewithal to begin preparations. _

_ I have but one request: a long-sleeve dress. I get quite cold. The rest is up to you. _

_ Yours, sincerely; _

_ Bella _

She sealed the envelope and placed it on the bedside table next to Thorin’s letter. It would be sent in the morning. 


	5. Chapter Five: Airing out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin finds out. Thorin knows he needs to come to terms with his decision.

Dwalin dabbed his forehead with a rag while leaving the training arena. Thorin was outdoing him every sparring match since Gandalf had appeared a few weeks earlier. His mood hadn’t improved, but his swordsmanship and axe throwing had gotten better. He supposed that was an improvement to breaking whiskey glasses. 

The castle was waking up, the sunshine breaking through the fog to reach green, gauzy curtains and greet open doors. Dwalin loved being awake for this. He took his time wandering down the hallway to his quarters in the main sanctum of the castle, near Thorin’s chambers. He turned into the inner portion of the castle, and had to turn around. A door that hadn’t been open for nearly a decade was propped open with a large potted fig, and servants were moving around within. 

Dwalin felt himself begin to sweat. Again. 

A squeaky tug, and light poured from the room out to the hallway, and onto Dwalin. Someone was airing out the room. He stepped inside. 

“Pardon me, miss,” he called out. The maid who was tying back the curtains jumped with an audible gasp. “Sorry,” Dwalin grumbled. “What are you doing in here?”

“I’m airing the room, sir,” she replied, unperturbed. “Prince Thorin requested this room be cleaned first thing this morning.”

“Uh huh, did he. And you’re sure it wasn’t his Majesty who asked you to do this, perhaps last evening while fetching an evening bite?” Dwalin chose his words carefully. The whole castle knew King Thrain had been sleep-walking, quite loudly. 

The servant crossed her arms and glared at Dwalin. “No, sir. It was Prince Thorin, last evening, at 9:30. I was in the kitchen with Mrs. Godric when he came to speak with her,” she finished. “And his Majesty doesn’t go into the kitchen at night anymore. Not after the security around here decided the kitchen needed to be locked after ten.” 

_ I guess I’m security. _Dwalin huffed, but crossed his arms in response. “No more games. Why are you airing this room out?” 

“I can’t tell you.”

He took a step forward. “As the master-of-arms I insist you tell me.”

She took a step forward too. “Nope.”

“_ Nope _?” Dwalin said back mockingly. “Lassie, I swear-”

“Mr. Dwalin if you want an answer please go and see Thorin at once and stop bothering my staff,” Mrs. Godric, the Durinson family housekeeper, proclaimed. She was standing in the doorway holding a sky-high stack of linens and looked very cross through her cat-eye spectacles. “Take these please, my dear.” The maid took the linens and began unfolding them. 

“The household has turned against me. I knew this day would come,” Dwalin moaned. He dipped down to drop a kiss on Mrs. Godric’s cheek before rushing down the corridor to Thorin’s chambers. 

* * *

“Thorin Durinson, are you getting married?” Dwalin boomed, smacking open Thorin’s bedroom door with the palm of his hand. 

Thorin, who was halfway done putting a sock on one foot, paused and looked up at Dwalin. The two large men stared at one another. Dwalin, bald with a thick handlebar mustache and pools of sweat across his shirt, and Thorin, freshly showered and smart looking in his white button-down shirt and wool trousers. 

Thorin pulled his sock and put his foot down before standing up to his full height. “Yes.”

“_ Dammit man, _I’m the master-at-arms here, I need to know these things!” he exclaimed while striding toward Thorin until Thorin felt the need to sit back down. “When’s the wedding?”

“We’re thinking May,” he grumbled out. 

“Gandalf did this.” 

“Who else would cook up such a scheme?” Thorin replied icily. 

Dwalin fell back on Thorin’s couch. The cool leather felt good on his back. “What’s her name?” 

Thorin crumpled back on his bedspread. “Lady Belladonna Baggins. She’s the heiress to a large estate in Arda.” Thorin looked far away, like he was mentally disconnecting himself from the topic. “Her estate has a hereditary seat on the Council of Arda. Gandalf thinks that if I marry her I can petition for it as a spouse.” 

Dwalin nodded. “Sounds like a whirl-wind romance.” 

“It sounds like bullshit, Dwalin. I don’t even know what she looks like. We’ve been writing letters back and forth, but that’s it.”

Dwalin sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Why don’t you go to…Where is she?”

“Bag End, in the Northeast of Arda, right along the coast.” 

“Right, why don’t you go meet her?” he was curious. 

Thorin looked down and shook his head. “I...don’t want to. I knew I should be more attentive to this but I have more important things to do. Balin has taken over most of the wedding planning. I haven’t been able to bring myself to help at all”

Dwalin grunted. He’d never been engaged, and it was sounding messier and messier. “So...you’ve no idea about anything about her?” 

Thorin sat up and walked to his writing desk. He collected two letters and dropped them on Dwalin’s lap. “Here’s the last letter she wrote me. Normally I wouldn’t-”

“Yes, yes normally you wouldn’t show me your private correspondence, yada yada. Let’s just say as your head of household security, I stole it.” Dwalin skimmed Bella’s last letter. 

_ Dear Thorin, _

_ I’m sorry to say I know very little about Erebor. I have done some research and understand the country has had a regime change in the last hundred years and is still forging political alliances with Arda, among other nations. I hope to learn more. Will you please outline for me any expectations of me upon my arrival to Erebor? _  
_  
_There isn’t much to tell about the Baggins’. My father, Duke Bungo, married my mother, Belladonna Took, and together expanded the Bag End estate well beyond its original borders. They worked very hard to create a haven for my tenants. My mother died when I was young.

_ When you write next, include your shoe size. The sheep farmers here produce the finest strung wool that comes out of the whole shire country. I’ll bring you a pair of socks, as a sign of goodwill. _

_ Yours sincerely, Belladonna _

Dwalin folded the letter and set it down beside him. Thorin was staring ahead of himself, idly playing with a stray thread in his cuff. Dwalin, who had known Thorin since he was a youth, could see fear and uncertainty radiating off of him. Strategy had never been Thorin’s strong-suit, but his heart was in the right place when he set it loose. 

“So the wedding is in May. It’s July,” Dwalin stated. Thorin nodded. 

“Indeed.” Thorin finally looked at him. “The only direct request she’s made to any wedding is that the gown be long-sleeve. Shouldn’t she be here for a fitting or something?”

Dwalin squinted. “Don’t ask stupid questions. You know wedding dresses have a dozen fittings. Especially if the lady is expecting,” he said wiping his face. “Have your letters talked about anything remotely royalty related?”

Thorin bent over and tugged his loafers on before standing to fold his sweaty gym clothes. “Not yet. I thought it would be better to discuss it after the wedding. I don’t even think heirs, allowances, or property rights were included in the contract Dad and Balin sent her.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Dwalin was incredulous. A marriage contract in this age, even among royal families, was antiquated. “You’ll have to get on the phone with her and let her know what’s coming. I think the best action plan-” Thorin held up a hand and huffed loudly to stop him. 

“Dwalin, stop. She’s across an ocean, happily keeping Bag End in order, and not asking about a wedding, while I happily slough off all my wedding duties to your brother. Perfect system. I get a council seat, she gets to retain ownership of a chunk of land. I don’t care about her, I understand the political value this produces, but it sends a message that Erebor isn’t independent and that it can’t stand on its own two feet,” he punctuated the part by slamming the sweaty shirt on the bedspread. “I don’t want a Victorian romance, I want stability and independence.”

“First of all,” Dwalin started, counting on his fingers. He was leaned over, elbows to knees in a bent over position that should have made him look smaller. He looked sprawling. “She’s probably just as scared as you. Don’t deny it you twit.” 

“You talk to the crown prince like that?” Thorin challenged, his home-grown Northern accent flowing through the quip. 

“Yes, when he’s being a twit.Second, it doesn’t say Erebor is weak it says we’re willing to compromise. We don’t live in the dark ages where ‘strength is strength’. And last, have you read those harlequin romances? Victorian gentleman had amazing sex. It sounds like you’re getting a great deal.” 

Thorin’s cheeks began to heat up, thoroughly embarrassed by Dwalin’s implication. 

“Laddie, my point is this marriage will not be a lost cause, and won’t be loveless. You’ll just have to make peace with your choice.”

Thorin sat beside him, leaning back on the couch. “I can try.” 

“Good!” Dwalin boomed, smacking Thorin across the abdomen. “Start by writing her back. Give her a list, let her be organized. Find out what Bag End is like. Tell her to expect me in October.”

“_ Why?” _ Thorin called before Dwalin pulled his door shut. 

“Master of arms stuff. Don’t worry your pretty head about it,” Dwalin winked. 

* * *

Thorin was left alone in his bedroom. He had hoped Dwalin wouldn’t find out so soon, but it was his own fault for asking the housekeeper to open the queen’s quarters. In truth, he had missed his mother’s suite. The smells of her soap still lingered around her vanity. He’d said goodbye to his mother long ago, but not to the room. He thought that in a few months, he could get used to thinking of it as his bride-to-be’s room. Bella’s room. 

Taking up his favorite ball-point pen, Thorin sat at his desk and wrote Bella a letter on his second favorite pad of card stock. 

_ Dear- _

Dwalin’s voice all but slapped him in the back of the head: _ she’s to be your wife. Idiot. _

_ My dear Bella, _

_ Despite your humble approach I believe Bag End must be a lovely place to have produced such stupendous sheep. I would love a pair of socks. _

_ You are correct; Erebor did undergo a regime change in the last one hundred years. A usurper by the name of Gamus took the throne in a coup and threw my family into turmoil for decades. My father has faithfully rebuilt much of what our usurper destroyed. He arrived back on the throne when I was 12 and still learning. There is much more to tell, but too much for one letter. _

_ My master of arms, Master Dwalin Fundin is planning on visiting you in October. I am unsure on dates and details, only that he would like to meet you and visit the estate. He is my household security master, trainer, and closest friend. Please write hastefully if this is acceptable. _

_ Finally, I realize I failed to impress the gravity of how this new situation sits with me. We are to be married. I do not want our marriage to be loveless or lacking respect for one another. I hope in the days and letters to come we may grow closer so that respect and love do foster over time. _

_ Yours, _

_ Thorin _

The ‘yours’ felt a bit forced, but Thorin meant it. And in May, he would mean it again.

Thorin folded the letter, and just as quickly unfolded it and scrawled across the bottom of the page:

_ P.S. My shoe size is men's 12. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO,  
LIFE UPDATE: we did not get into graduate school, so while I was grieving I was not writing. Covid-19 has me at home all the time so I now have time to write (hurrary!). Things are moving alone. Dwalin decided he wanted to go to Bag End and who am I to stop him. Thorin is tricky for me. I don't want him to be grumpy and mean, but I know he will be once Bella shows up because he's DUMB. Anyway, letter writing continues because I am a Victorian harlequin romance novel reader and proud of it. Hope you guys like :) let me know if you have serious concerns. And thank you for being patient, y'all are dears.


	6. Chapter Six: Boundary Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella writes Thorin again. She, Mr. Gamgee, and Mr. Smaug walk the boundary walls of the estate to give Mr. Smaug a lay of the land.

Hot July passed over the estate and Bella found herself more and more often taking her letters and tasks out to the garden. The bluebell patch Bella had planted two years earlier had finally decided to bloom, and the poppies along the garden fence were reaching toward the sky, elated for some sunshine after a week of overcast skies. Bella stooped on her way back from the kitchen with tea to pick a small, bright red geranium. It was the perfect size to include in her letter. Though she suspected by the time it arrived, it would be drained of color and squished. 

She sat at her table, still in her housecoat and dark blue wellies. A little chickadee perched on the empty chair opposite her, peeking. 

“No crumbs, Mr. Bird,” Bella whispered quietly. Cocking his head the bird spied Bella. He’d only been free of his nest a few days, but he had decided the little wooden-but-not-quite-a-tree-table the big lady sat at was his favorite spot in the garden. Even when she didn’t have crumbs. 

Bella began by writing Thorin. 

_ Thorin- _

“No that’s too formal, we’re engaged for goodness sake,” Bella mumbled to the Chickadee. She began again. 

_ My dear Thorin,  _

_ Please accept these red wool socks. I know it isn’t the royal colors...come to think of it I don’t know what they are...I suppose I should learn them soon enough. Is there any other pertinent information I should know for our wedding day? Must we observe any specific customs? I would like to be respectful of what is required or traditional.  _

_ Master Fundin is welcome anytime. I am delighted to hear he is visiting. If you would send travel dates at your earliest convenience, I can send my groundskeeper to see him to the manor house.  _

_ The manor is doing well. I’ve hired a full time treasurer to live at the estate and act as an accountant and manage the household funds. Mrs. Brown and Mr. Gamgee could get along on their own, but Bag End often facilitates large transactions between farmers and businesses south or across the Channel. Mr. Smaug will be a wonderful help to them. I hope to review the expanse of the estate’s well being with Mr. Fundin.  _

_ My garden is in bloom. All the poppy fields are in full blossom, yellow and red. And down the driveway and along the first sheep fence there are wild bluebells volunteering. I had hoped for some roses this year, but only the wild pink ones seem to want to sprout. I hope you get to see it one day.  _

_ Yours,  _

_ Bella _

“Yours” seemed a little forced as well, but Thorin had written “yours” and it had been very endearing. She would follow suit. 

* * *

“Odo! Hurry up! He’ll be here soon,” Bella yelled, rapping her fingers on the washroom door. 

“Do you have any idea how  _ inappropriate  _ it is to bother a man of the church while he’s in the loo?” Odo called through the door. The sink turned on. 

“No more inappropriate as a man of the church indulging in whiskey and cigars twice in one week,” Bella quipped, leaning against the hallway. She examined her nails briefly before Odo swung the door open. His hair was slicked back in a way that was meant to make Vicars look collected. It made poor Odo look like he was going to pop. 

“It was my birthday, and I’m allowed one fun thing on my birthday,” Odo huffed, shoving his hands in his boiled wool cardigan.

“It was also Mrs. Brown’s birthday, and that’s two things. You did two things twice.”

“I don’t like you.”

Bella blew a raspberry at him. 

“Anyway, isn’t Smaug going to be here?” Odo asked, unperturbed.

“Oh right!” she said, turned, walked past Odo, and scooted down the back stairs to the kitchen door for her wellies. 

“You’re certain?” 

Bella looked up from pulling her second boot on. Odo was standing in the doorway, hands behind his back. Her playful cousin was masked behind the vicar. 

“I’m certain,” she replied. Bella had not told Odo the real reason for contracting a treasurer yet, and it broke her heart. She had promised, and then she had delayed. And delayed, and delayed. With every letter she received from Thorin it became harder and harder to reveal. Especially when she was fostering a delicate bud of respect in her heart. “Can I...when do you want me to tell you?”

Odo’s gaze softened and his vicar mask melted away. He clasped the back of a kitchen chair and tensed up his shoulders. “When you’re ready too.” 

Bella leaned against the back of a chair across from Odo. “I’m sorry I’m secret keeping. I know I said I would tell you after you found the letters on my mantle-”

“No, stop it,” Odo cut off. “You’re keeping a secret, and it hurts me a little because you’re my friend and I love you, but you’ve never kept a secret from me before, so I  _ know  _ that this one is important. And potentially life changing. However, the satisfaction I’ll get when you finally spit it out will be worth it. And I know you wouldn’t unless you thought it was really, really important. So there. When you’re ready.”

Bella felt a lump form in her throat. “Thank you, Odo.”

He smiled a little then put on his best grumbly face, which was undermined by the slick hair. “If you ever tell my mum I said I loved you, I’ll kill you.” They both snorted. 

Footsteps tapped down the hallway to the kitchen, and Mrs. Brown appeared carrying her gardening hat. “Oh, there you two are, come on, his car is pulling up. Odo, put your boots on,” Mrs. Brown exclaimed. “Bella, wipe your face, you’ve a smudge on your cheek. I hope you two weren’t throwing raspberries at one another again.” Odo and Bella did as they were told and sheepishly followed Mrs. Brown to the front of the house. Mr. Gamgee was holding the gate open in anticipation of a black sedan that was slowly making its way down the two lane road. Odo shoved Bella forward a step so she stood in front of him and Mrs. Brown. “Best face on, Lady Bella,” Mrs. Brown said, and although to an outsider it would sound calming, both Bella and Odo knew from past experience she was warning them to behave. Bella was the ancestral leader of the estate, and duchess of Bag End, but Mrs. Brown  _ ruled  _ the manor-house. 

Mr. Gamgee closed the gate, and Mr. Smaug’s car swung off to the left. His door opened, and out he climbed. 

“Lady Bella, it is a pleasure to see you again,” he stated, extending his hand. Bella took it. 

“The same to you, Mr. Smaug. I’m so pleased you could start straight-away. This is my household,” she stepped toward Smaug so she could gesture to the assembled three. “Mrs. Brown the housekeeper, Mr. Gamgee the groundskeeper and gardener, and my cousin Odo the parish Vicar.” 

“A pleasure Mrs. Brown,” Mr. Smaug said coolly whilst shaking her hand. “Mr. Gamgee, if you have the time I would appreciate a tour of the grounds.” 

“I’d be happy to walk the nearest acres with you, sir,” Gamgee grumbled out. 

“Vicar, glad to meet you,” Smaug said. He and Odo shook a manly handshake. “This is a very lovely welcome.”

“I’ve a room all laid out for you, and some lunch on. Come on, Mr. Smaug,” Mrs. Brown called. She was already walking back to the house, Mr. Gamgee, a well-trained man, at her heels. 

“My bags-” he began, but Bella stopped him with a gesture. 

“Just take your briefcase for now, Mr. Gamgee will help you later with anything larger. Mrs. Brown doesn’t stop for luggage,” Bella whispered. 

“Quite so.” Mr Smaug stated. 

* * *

The next morning, Bella was up before the sun to walk the grounds with Gamgee and the latest addition to the house. She had pulled her thickest blue wool socks on as well as her hat, all the while shoving her kid gloves in the big pocket of her jacket. 

She had crept downstairs to turn on the kettle when the kitchen light turned on. 

“OH!” she gasped, slipping on the wooden floor and catching herself on a stronger than average cupboard handle and the back of a kitchen chair. 

“My apologies, miss, I thought I’d prepare a thermos before we began walking.” Mr. Smaug was dressed elegantly even in his walking clothes. A marled grey derby cap, scarf tucked inside his coat, and his own matte black Hunters already pulled on. “I asked Mrs. Brown to show me where the tea is kept,” and to prove it he opened the very cupboard where Bella kept her tin full of morning chamomile. 

“So she did,” Bella whispered while righting herself. She whipped off her cashmere cap and ruffled her short hair. She hoped waking up this early wouldn’t be a habit. For either of them. 

* * *

Bella, Mr. Gamgee, and Smaug made their way out to the furthest sheepfold before the sun had peeked over the horizon. Mourning doves were cooing gently on fenceposts, and rabbits stood at attention in the mist before bouncing away from the walkers boots. 

Mr. Gamgee didn’t speak until they made it out to the first sheepfold, nearly five kilometers from the kitchen garden. They followed the south stone wall separating the estate’s farm with the neighbors. Bella hoped Mr. Smaug wasn’t severely offended with Mr. Gamgee’s teaching style. While he was a talkative man about his garden and vegetable patch, he left experience to do the teaching when it came to the farmland. He had done the same thing when Bella had walked the land for the first time in her early teens. Most girls for their sweet sixteen had gotten a party. Bella received a lesson in quietude and perspective. And later, when the farm work was done, her own cherry wood desk in her father’s study. 

“Right, Mr. Smaug, this is the first fold on the property. This is where we keep our batch during the summer. The sheep change folds every other season to give the grass time to grow back, and over east,” Mr. Gamgee gestured, “is the second fold as well as the boys and dogs. We hire a couple local lads to stay here a few nights a month, especially when the weather is as fickle as ‘tis been.” 

Mr. Smaug nodded with solemnity. The three peeked into the fold. Dozens of fuzzy bodies rested inside. 

“Don’t sheep usually stay out of doors during the summer? This latch is closed.” 

“You’re absolutely right, good sir. However these bubs are to be sheared in a few days, and the lads are doing their best to reduce any damage to their coats.” 

Mr. Smaug still looked a little lost. “I’m completely new to this Mr. Gamgee, so please forgive me, but I don’t know the particulars about wool or shearing at all.”

“Heavy rain can damage their coats, but it can also damage their feet. You saw how squishy the ground is on our way out?” Bella asked. Mr. Smaug nodded solemnly. “These sheep have been enduring hot nights and on-and-off humid days which doesn’t give the wool enough time to dry out, and with a shearing gang coming, we want the wool to be dry. The squishy ground also damages their feet which increases infections. The lads lay dry hay down in here so that their feet can dry and the wool is safe from any rain showers. They’ll do this every other day until Sunday. That’s when the gang arrives.” 

“I see. Thank you, both of you.” Mr. Gamgee grunted and kept walking.    
  
They trekked out another five kilometers to the closest boundary wall. It was nearly two feet high and made of piled stones. A relic the Baggins’ had worked hard to maintain. 

“This is the west boundary of the manor-house property. This here little wall,” Mr. Gamgee tapped it with his foot, “marks the end of the house’s land, and the beginning of communal grazing land. Whose schedule is governed by myself and all the farmers with flocks. We meet every season to decide which area to graze next. All the flocks are separated right now for shearing, which is why our little one is cooped up close to home. Normally they would be in the east pasture.” 

“When the shearing is done on Sunday the lads and dogs will drive them back,” Bella finished. “Then they will all be together again.”    
  
The three stood at the boundary as the sun rose fully over the valley. The little overnight fog was burning off, and birds had started to sing through the sun beams that poked through grey clouds. Bella scrunched her shoulders so her scarf was nestled around her ears, peaking over at Mr. Smaug. His features were sharply silhouetted against a particularly rain-filled cloud. For a second Bella heard a tiny voice mention how elegant he looked even out here, and her second, more thought-ful voice smacked the first one upside the head for ever having such a thought.    
  
“Well gentleman,” Bella’s second voice had found purchase, “this is as far as I go. I’ll see you both back by ten? Don’t stay out to long Mr. Gamgee. The postman missed you last time you stayed out late.” 

“Of course m’lady,” Mr. Gamgee waved her off. As the two watched the lady of the manor begin the trudge back, Mr. Gamgee scratched the back of his neck in wonderment that she had found out about his mid-morning snack with the postman. 


	7. Chapter Seven: What We do for Our Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella reveals to Mrs. Brown changes coming to Bag End. Dwalin tells Thorin he needs to speed up his wedding planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really think of Bungo as Georges Hautecourt from the Aristocats. I feel like he would have the same energy.

Mrs. Brown sat at the kitchen table in her slippers and plum housecoat, still in her hair-curlers. She’d had a dreadful night sleep, tossing and turning at the thought of a new man in the house. The tea kettle sang a little joining the creaking noises from the rest of the old, old mansion. 

Mr. Smaug had politely answered questions the previous day about his habits and preferences. He had even asked her a few regarding her habits. But Mrs. Brown had suspected they were just that: polite. She took a deep breath. She would survive. She had lived in this house since her husband, Mr. Brown, passed away young, fifteen years prior. This was her home, with Bella and Odo and the vegetable garden filled with early radishes and fennel. She had very clear memories of walking out with Duke Bungo when he’d first been prescribed a cane. They had spent many winter mornings practicing stability on the frosty ground. 

“_If I can keep my balance on this damned shrubbery I can keep my balance on those pesky stairs,” Bungo belted out. His old legs shook a little as he tried to prance through the early December grass as if at a grand ambassador's soiree. “Pretty good so far, ‘eh Amaranth?” _

_ “Won’t you think again of moving into a downstairs bedroom?” Mrs. Brown asked. She stood at the far side of the garden which grew out and around the backside of the house. From the front, one stepped through an archway overgrown with pink jasmine Mr. Gamgee had trained, into the side garden, filled with perennials, and finally to the back garden where he and Amaranth Brown grew seasonal vegetables for the house. _

_ “Balderdash!” Bungo exclaimed, his voice going hoarse at the end. “I was born in that room and I will die in that room. Until then, I’ll waddle up those stairs until my hips give it out.” _

Mrs. Brown remembered when his hips did finally give out, thankfully not while on those pesky stairs. Bella and Mrs. Brown honored his wishes and during his final two months helped him up and down the stairs every day for a walk around the garden. 

A little tapping from the door startled Mrs. Brown out of her memories. Bella stood in the kitchen doorway with last night’s tea cup. “Am I interrupting you?”

“No, no, dear. Come sit,” Mrs. Brown said, patting the table as she stood up. “I was just heating up the kettle.” 

“I’ll get cups,” Bella replied. They quietly worked around one another. Bella set the table with orange bread baked the night before, butter, and plates. Mrs. Brown poured tea.

“Did you sleep all right?” Bella asked. She bit into her bread. 

Mrs. Brown rapped her fingers against her tea cup and sighed. “No. You?” 

“No,” Bella admitted. “I know it will take a few weeks to get used to Mr. Smaug being in the house. But it feels too soon. I think I rushed it,” she finished quietly. “He’s spent two days reviewing really old daybooks from when Grandpa was alive. I told him none of those were relevant anymore but he insisted. Yesterday he asked me if we could have a server set up in the basement so he could automate QuickBooks.”

“I just wish he’d join us for supper. I told him his first day here we all had supper together, but he said he was too busy,” Mrs. Brown said. “I know he thinks this is a contract position, but we aren’t a big bank. We’re a household. You better insist he joins us or I’ll lock him out of that study.”

“You’d do that after three days?”

“I did it to you after you got back from uni that first year. You just wanted to sleep and I had to hide your bedroom key to get you to come to supper. I’ll do the same to him,” the housekeeper stated, propping her elbows on the table and holding her cup to her lips.

“Hmph,” Bella groused. She peaked up at Mrs. Brown, the housekeeper, the ruler of Bag End, her friend, her auntie, and found her peaking back. 

“Bella,” Mrs. Brown began. “You have a degree in accounting.” 

Bella paused. The creaky house seemed very still, maybe waiting for her to reveal her secret. Maybe giving the pitter patter of rain a chance to make itself known to the waking world. 

“I do, yes.”

“You could have handled all the estate’s financial decisions yourself.” 

“I-perhaps. I would consult you,” Bella was stumbling. Her cheeks felt very hot. 

“You know everything about this place.”

“Between Mr. Gamgee, Odo, you-”

“Stop it,” Amaranth hissed. Bella went silent. Her hands fell to the table, limp and pliant. “What is going on? Why did you hire staff you don’t need?”

Bella was frozen. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t speak. If she spoke it, if she told it, it would be true. 

“I’m scared,” she whispered. Mrs. Brown’s face softened, she reached across the table and took Bella’s limp hands in her wrinkly ones, and she felt her charge’s grip grow firm. Bella took a shuddering breath. 

“Master Gandalf offered me a way to get Father’s seat back. But to do it, I have to go away. I hired Mr. Smaug so you and Mr. Gamgee wouldn’t have to worry about money.” 

Amaranth couldn’t breathe either. “What do you mean ‘go away’?” 

“I just, I won’t be able to be here. There’s a good chance that because of the deal, I’ll have to move. To Erebor.” 

Mrs. Brown dropped Bella’s hands and stared hard at her. “Erebor? Across the strait? Why in _ Arda _would you move there?” 

Bella clasped her fingers together, rubbing her thumb over her opposite thumbnail, trying to be delicate. “There is someone important, a public figure, who wants a seat on the Council of Arda, but to get it they have to have citizenship, and to get citizenship they need-”

“Belladonna Baggins are you getting married?” Mrs. Brown asked. And she wished she had asked it softly, because Bella began to cry. 

* * *

Far across the water, Thorin walked to his room from the kitchens. He scraped one hand over his cheek and felt a two day old beard. It itched. He had been busy picking colors and sending plain-clothes staff to look at local churches the whole day. He’d been too busy to shave. 

Word had quietly spread through the palace staff that heir to the throne was to be wed. No reporters had caught wind yet. Thorin assumed the respectable Master Balin had given the staff a stern talking-to, with Dwalin standing right behind him, looking huge. 

Thorin had reluctantly begun wedding preparations. It was August, and his wedding was supposed to be in May, and according to Balin it would take months to make all the arrangements especially if they were to be completed quietly. Thorin yawned, truly wanting to make the public announcement and get it over with. It would give his people something to hope for. A new princess, a celebration, eventually a new heir. 

He shook his head. _ None of that, you haven’t even met the woman yet. _

But he was trying to. Thorin would never admit he liked getting letters. Bella’s last letter held a pressed, red geranium from her garden. It was intimate, to hold something so delicate his betrothed had touched. Too intimate. He’d gently placed it back in the envelope and returned it to her growing stack of letters at his office desk. That was where this arrangement lived; in his office.

Thorin turned right down the hallway where his father and mother's bedrooms lived.They were across the hall from one another with mirrored doors. His mother’s door was open. 

Thorin paused. He pulled out his Blackberry and quickly texted Dwalin who was probably just waking up. 

The queen’s bedroom was dark. The drapes were drawn, and the maid would be by in a few minutes to open them. Even though the room was unoccupied, the staff had been cleaning it regularly for a month now in anticipation of a new crown princess. 

“Father?” Thorin called softly. He tapped on the door before pushing it up further. Thrain, ruler of Erebor and King under the mountain, was quietly opening the drawers of his late wife’s dresser and vanity. Thorin could just see his silhouette. He could hear a frantic whisper. 

“The brush, the brush, the brush, the comb, comb, comb, no, NO, brush, the _ brush _.”

“Father,” Thorin called, firmer this time. He was standing in the doorway now. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dwalin arrive and stay out of sight. 

“I need the brush, or the comb, brush, brush, brush, where’s the _ brush _?” he pushed the drawer on the vanity shut, and opened another. 

“Thrain,” Thorin called. The king froze, his housecoat seeming to hang off of him. “What are you looking for?”

The king turned, looking at Thorin blankly, not knowing him. “Why, I’m, I-I-I-I’m looking for my wife’s brush, or comb,” he said clearly, momentarily turning away from the vanity and to the dresser. He looked back at Thorin again suspiciously before opening a drawer. “She always combs her hair before bed. One hundred strokes. But it’s missing. I need to find it or we can’t go to sleep.” He started running his hands through the drawer, still looking at Thorin. “I need to find her brush.” 

Thrain’s thought changed and he turned suddenly back to the dresser, opening all the drawers at once, searching. 

“Thrain, those drawers are empty. They’ve been empty for years,” Thorin said evenly. He took a slow step into the bedroom toward the windows. Thrain had stopped rummaging but was watching Thorin move, his head twitching in suspicion. “I’m opening the drapes. For some air,” Thorin told his father. 

“But...it’s bedtime. My wife, she needs to brush her hair, I need the brush,” Thrain told Thorin firmly. 

“I’ll help you back to bed, Father, let me just let in some air,” Thorin told him calmly, taking another step toward the window, his hands reaching through them for the latch. 

“_ Father _ ? I’m no one’s _ father, _I just need the brush,” Thrain called, this time insistent. His hands were still tapping against the bottom of a drawer. 

Thorin took a deep breath, but kept his eyes on the old man. “Father, I’m Thorin.” 

He opened the latch and felt morning air flow into the room. As he stepped away from the window he drew one cobalt drape away from the window, letting some sunbeams in. 

“No. No! I need the _ brush! I need the brush! It’s in here!” _slammed his palms against the bottom of the drawer. “It’s in...it’s...why…”

Thorin breathed some relief, and nodded to Dwalin to open the second of the double doors to the Queen’s room. Thrain stood up from his hunched pose, looking at his hands. “Thorin, why are my hands in this drawer?” Thorin swallowed back a lump in his throat at hearing clarity in his father’s voice. 

“You were sleepwalking,” he answered. Thrain turned away from the dresser and straightened his deep red housecoat. “You were looking for mum's comb.” 

“I...oh.” Thrain flattened his hair with the palm of his hands, and looked keenly at Thorin. “ I know you're lying to me, boys," he said, sighing heavily, shoving his hands in his housecoat pockets. "Because I’m very tired for someone who 'sleep-walks'.” 

Thorin and Dwalin walked the king to his sun-room, calling his valet to fetch him coffee and breakfast. Once food and the paper arrived, the young men left, instructing the valet to make sure his father took his medication. Hidden in a pudding if necessary. 

“Thorin,” Dwalin started. They stopped in the middle of the hall. “You know he isn’t well. These episodes are not predictable anymore.”

Thorin nodded. His father hadn’t been well for a long time. They had done an excellent job keeping his mental condition from the press, but the dementia episodes were unpredictable now. Before they were triggered by nightfall, now they lasted all night. 

“I’ll talk to Balin, see if we can change medications, or hire an in-house therapist-” Thorin started. Dwalin socked him in the shoulder. 

“Not that you nimrod,” Dwalin hissed. “Can the kingdom truly bless your union if your father has passed away the night before?” 

Thorin felt his whole body heat up with rage. “How dare you-” 

“It’s a reasonable query,” Dwalin drawled in his thick accent. “You are the crown prince, ruler apparent. Choose the order of events carefully.” 

Before Thorin could retort, Dwalin left him in the hall. Thorin was angry, and sad, and disappointed. 

The worst part was that Dwalin was right. He needed to look into speeding up the wedding. 

Exactly one hour later he’d showered, shaved, dressed, and sat at his office desk far away from Dwalin and his fists. 

_ Dear Bella, _

_ I write to you with a heavy heart, and a request brought by unfortunate events. _


	8. Chapter 8: A Romantic Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Gamgee oversees the sheep-shearing, Smaug participates in a community event, and Bella feels the pangs of young affection.

The first Sunday of August the land seemed ghostly to Mr. Gamgee. He was seated at the garden fence on an old crate, a little way from the kitchen door and vegetable patch. Waiting. The sun had barely risen, no birds sang, the wild rabbits stood still, not even the sheep bleats could be heard. It was already warm, hopefully it turned hot. 

Mr. Gamgee checked his watch. Half past five. He began humming a soft, gravelly tune that filled the space before him. He hummed another minute, then went quiet. He hummed, and hummed, and before he knew it, another hum from the east had joined his, as well as words from the north. And finally bleating and rumbling from a hundred sheep. Far through the mist he could make out the shapes of men walking, a couple in pairs, a few alone with packs slung over their shoulders, all on their way to the manor house for morning tea before the shearing began. They moved like spectres in the fog, converging for their own special council. 

Mr. Gamgee stood up, feeling his knees ache a little. Mr. Stubbins raised his hand in greeting, his eyes were still strong despite being the same age as Gaffer Gamgee, who was slowly losing his vision. The sheep still looked like sheep, and the men still stood tall, and that was a good sign. 

* * *

Stepping out of the garden, he made his way into the fog to join the rest of the spectres. 

The kitchen was sweltering. Mrs. Brown stood looking out past the garden to the group of two dozen men and their little children who’d come to shear the herds. She felt perspiration on her forehead from the day’s heat. Only ten and it was hot outside. She turned back to the stove. 

“Mrs. Brown, can I help you at all?” Bella asked, coming down the back stairwell. She was sporting a green floral print dress that fell to her calves. Before Mrs. Brown could answer, Bella had pulled an apron off a hook. 

“Yes. Stir, then chop.” Bella took over stirring the soup. Mrs. Brown pulled out the dough proofing in the oven and slammed it on the kitchen table to begin kneading. 

Sheering days meant lots of food, and lots of ale. It also meant a hundred songs, little boys and girls laughing, and bleating sheep. Noisy, raucous, exactly the way Duke Bungo wanted his home to be. 

“We haven’t talked about any moving arrangements for you. Should Gaffer and I post anything to you?” Mrs. Brown stood on her tiptoes, putting her full body weight into the dough. 

From the stove, the spoon Bella half clanked against the bottom of the pot, nudging the vegetables along in a lazy river. She planted a hand on her hip. “I hadn’t thought of it. I assumed I would just pack a suitcase and figure out what I missed when I arrived.”

“You know,” Mrs. Brown said, dropping the dough on the counter. She turned a quarter way to Bella. “That’s exactly what you said when you went to school. How many boxes did we mail you? Five?” 

“No.”

“Dozen?” 

“Horrible lady, you are.”

“Who still makes you lunch,” Mrs. Brown stated. She’d ditched the dough and pulled a plate out of the refrigerator. “Go eat, write your fiance, and all his money.”

“He doesn’t have a _ lot _of money-”

“Sure, sure, take your ham sandwich, go upstairs, and dream about your life of luxury.”

“Which I will despise!” Bella said, taking a step up the kitchen stairs. She blew a raspberry at Mrs. Brown, then scuttled up to her room. 

For the five seconds before Mr. Smaug walked in, Amaranth Brown breathed easy. Then Mr. Smaug walked in offering to help. 

“Mrs. Brown, I’m all done for today. Would you like any assistance?” He looked comical, standing in the kitchen doorway in his baggy cashmere sweater and slacks. Mrs. Brown still wasn’t used to Mr. Smaug’s city style. He would acclimate. Eventually. Maybe. 

“I don’t need help in here, but could you take this out to Mr. Gamgee?” She handed him a two gallon-keg and a basket with a dozen glasses in it. “It’s nearly time to start the shearing.”

* * *

Bella finished her lunch, and went downstairs to wash her plate and utensils. She was back on her way up the backstairs, but stopped at the landing to look out at the shearing gang. They were a rowdy bunch, a dozen young men and their dozen children, Gaffer Gamgee and Mr. Stubbins, and to her surprise Mr. Smaug who looked like he was thinking about participating. 

When she had seen him this morning he’d been wearing a cashmere sweater over a white shirt with suspenders, and nice slacks. He’d lost his sweater and had traded his oxfords for silly knee-high wellies which made him look like one of the farmers’ children. Bella was worried about him. He was quiet, and seemed to get along fine with the household, but he’d been avoiding breakfast and tended to keep his own schedule. But seeing him out in the sheep pen, listening intently to Mr. Stubbins explain emphatically with his hands the shearing process, some of her worries melted away. 

With a great cry from Mr. Gamgee, the shearing began. The kids who attended with their dads were in charge of collecting wool with rakes and bagging it. Bella knew they would dig at least one child out of a wool sack before the day was up. The younger men were in charge of the pens and the shearing, and the older folks, really just Mr. Stubbins and Mr. Gamgee kept count. Which really meant, yelled encouragement, and commented on how skinny or fat some of the ewes were. 

Smaug had taken a spot with the younger men in the pens, minding the sheep, and picking which ones were shorn. Bella watched from her window as one young man, she thought Farmer Bolgers son, showed Smaug how to heave a sheep up around its front legs and settle it belly-up for a clipper. Smaug gave it a try, with too wide arms and too much hesitation, and ended up under the sheep. 

Bella snorted, and kept walking up the stairs to her room. Smaug would get it eventually. She had a letter to read, mean-while. 

* * *

_ Dear Bella, _

_ I write to you with a heavy heart, and a request brought by unfortunate events. _

_ My father’s health fails. He is suffering from bouts of dementia and episodes of forgetfulness in the night. I had hoped his condition would not progress, but recently he did not know me. I worry he will not be well enough to bless our marriage. _

_ It is necessary for any marriage by the royal family be endorsed by my kin, as the transition of power will be difficult. Thrain has ruled through coup and peace, and I would have him bless us before the people of Erebor. _

_ As difficult as this is for our personal lives, I request we move the wedding forward to December of this year, rather than May of next. Please, write as soon as possible confirming this change. _

_ My deepest apologies. Consider this a constructive moment building good faith in one another. _

_ Cordially, _

_ Thorin _

Bella dropped the letter on her bedspread and took a deep breath. _ December? _That was only four months away. 

The French door to her private balcony swung open a little, and the bleats of lambs and ewes sailed in. She slid off the bed, leaving the letter, and stepped out onto the balcony. The shearing noises became louder. Nearing the railing she saw Mr. Gamgee and Stubbins clapping for the kids who were furiously raking up tufts of wool. The farm boys clipping stopped momentarily to change out their electric clippers for charged ones, then signaled for another three sheep. Smaug, was still in the pens, but Bella had to lean forward against the rail and squint to truly see what he was doing. 

Laughing. 

Smaug was laughing at the Bolgers’ boy who was wrestling his own ewe out of the pen to the shearers. His face was wide with delight at the sunshine and the animals. Bella felt her heart skip a little when he patted one little ewe on the face, scratching up its long face. His shirt was drenched in sweat, and he’d rolled his sleeves up to keep them clean. And he looked happy. 

Perhaps that’s how it would be. Bella would move to Erebor for an arranged marriage, and handsome, snoody Mr. Smaug would move to Bag End, an unexpected haven. 

She didn’t realize she was staring until Smaug met her eyes. He had his arms around a particularly fluffy lamb, and met Bella’s gaze before sending the creature to the clippers. He was sweaty and breathing hard, and Bella didn’t care that Thorin was somewhere waiting for her. Smaug was here in the sheepfold tending lambs, and helping the littlest girls sit on the pen-rail so they could wave to their fathers. She propped her chin in her elbow against the balustrade and smiled at Smaug. 

To her delight, he smiled back. 

The breeze gave a great gust, and behind Bella, the letter fell to the floor.


End file.
